The Gallery
by Millie
Summary: *pregnancy complications!* A chance encounter at an art gallery leads to something more...Mirandyish


The gallery was not at all what Miranda had been expecting. It was small, quaint, trendy, and entirely too modern for her liking. But before she could protest Roy was opening the door for her and her Prada clad foot was touching the dirty cement of the sidewalk. Pulling her black fur closer to her suddenly cold body, Miranda made her way towards the gallery, hoping that her presence would not cause an enormous stir.

She merely wanted to pick out a new piece of artwork. Her newly redesigned bedroom was desperately lacking some colorful piece of artwork, and an up-and-coming gallery seemed the best place to discover some completely original and new piece. Her only criteria for Emily had been, "something simplistic yet tastefully bold."

Emily had immediately found several galleries for Miranda to peruse, and this had been second on the list. Miranda wasn't sure what she would find as she pressed her way through the large glass door shielding the entrance of the building. She stepped inside, her shoulders visibly releasing in the warmth of the room. She glanced around and found that while several eyes had darted to meet her, the majority of the art gallery viewers could care less that Miranda Priestly had just arrived.

An attractive young woman with skin a delicious shade of ebony approached Miranda. Before she could speak to greet the older woman, Miranda slipped out of her fur and handed it to her, her eyes already taking in her surroundings, honing in on a picture she quite liked towards the back of the room. Aloof, Miranda missed the sudden recognition dance across the young girls face.

Once the fur was out of her hands, Miranda walked towards the picture that had captured her attention. The canvas was huge, nearly reaching the floor beneath it and the ceiling above it. It held a giant sketch of a woman in a stunning gown, her long brunette hair curled around her face, trailing down her back. Her hazy eyes looked brown, and were accentuated by the red fabric of the dress. It looked like a clothing sketch that Miranda viewed on a daily basis. Except this was a classic look with a familiar subject hidden inside.

It was too perfect to pass up; it would fit seamlessly in with the warm colors she had chosen for the new master bedroom. She would buy this work. She would buy it regardless of price, regardless of the artist, of the gallery. It would hang across from her bed, and she would stare at it, and it would remind her of a distant memory of a vague person from her past that never quite seemed to leave her mind, but instead lingered inside of it, taunting and teasing her.

A voice from far off registered in her mind as she regarded the piece. It sounded so familiar, so warm. A laughter that could not be forgotten hung in the air, and suddenly Miranda felt uneasy. Perhaps the picture was too much. Perhaps she should keep looking.

She began backing away from the mesmerizing eyes of the stick-thin sketch, backing up until she felt herself accidentally collide with another body. She quickly turned, ready to state her apology and run, but found an oddly memorable form standing with her back to her.

The woman appeared to be doubled over in some sort of pain and Miranda was not quite sure what she should do. Offer help? Find that nice helpful young woman from before and tell her that someone was in pain in the back of the gallery and then make her exit?

She saw the long brunette hair, the tall, rounded frame, and she realized who it was. And yet she still wanted to turn and run.

But those mocha colored eyes immediately glued her to the spot. They were no longer the eyes of a young, hopeful girl, but eyes of a weary, frightened, hurting woman. The pain that seared through Miranda's soul was frightening. She clenched her hands into fists, unprepared for this encounter.

This once vibrant young woman was in pain and her stomach alerted Miranda to the fact that she was very pregnant, and the left hand that was resting on her rounded belly reflected a gleam so bright that it was nearly blinding due to a platinum band around her ring-finger.

"Miranda?" A gasp through clenched teeth was heard.

Miranda glanced around, desperately wishing that someone else would see this woman in pain and come help her so that she would not have to. She couldn't be responsible for this; she had no idea where to begin. She had lost all sense of where her professional relationship with this woman ended and where her inner, hidden feelings began. And it all came rushing back so quickly that it nearly sent Miranda's head reeling in thoughts that she would not and should not be having at this moment.

She immediately began acting without thought. She took the younger woman's hand and led her to a nearby bench. She sat her down and glanced desperately around for some water. Luckily a passing waiter took notice and she sent him off with a strict request for water immediately.

Miranda turned back once more to the frightened looking woman.

"It hurts," The woman gasped, wiping at her moist eyes. She was trying her hardest not to cry.

Miranda once again willed someone to come rescue her from this situation, but no one was near enough to help. "Where, Andrea?" Miranda's voice was low, it didn't sound like her voice at all. She sounded entirely too calm for her own good.

"Here," Andrea, the woman who had not once left Miranda's dreams or thoughts since she had left her employ nearly a year prior, pointed to a spot beneath her rounded stomach.

Miranda's mouth was suddenly dry. She had no idea what to do; she was not a medical doctor, she only had a limited working knowledge of pregnancies as her own had been high risk. Having twins in her forties had not been the smartest decision ever, but then again she hadn't really planned on getting pregnant. What Andrea was describing, however, did not sound good. Pain was never a good sign.

But Miranda did not want to worry her.

The waiter returned with the water and Miranda immediately sat down beside Andrea, coaxing her to sip it, but not to drink. Moments seemed to pass by and Andrea slowly calmed down. The silence between them was unnerving, yet Miranda did not feel she could just up and leave the hurting woman. She now felt obligated to stay, and make sure the brunette was all right.

Unable to stand the quiet, Miranda inquired, "better?"

She received a gentle, scared nod 'yes'.

"Oh, Andy! Are you all right?" The young woman from the front of the gallery appeared.

"Yeah, Lily. I'm all right now." Andrea nodded, her smile, Miranda noted, looked forced as she tried to reassure her friend. This Lily eyed Miranda suspiciously, and Miranda realized it all looked rather odd. Miranda Priestly sitting next to her ex-assistant. "I'm just going to go call Nate; I'll be back in a minute." Andrea stated, hoisting herself up off the bench and hobbling towards another part of the gallery.

The young woman looked from Andrea to Miranda, her eyes lingering on the editor entirely too long. "Thank you," Lily rubbed her cheek with her hand and then turned.

Miranda quickly stood up and followed after this Lily woman. "Excuse me; I would like to purchase that painting." Lily stopped dead in her tracks and turned to look at the painting that Miranda was pointing at.

Lily's face looked quite surprised at first, but soon settled into a warm smile. "Wonderful. That particular piece is selling for..."

Miranda stopped Lily's announcement of the cost with a black American Express card. "I hope this is all right. And I will have my people here to pick it up tomorrow."

Lily gave Miranda another surprised look and took the card. Without another word spoken between them, Lily turned and went off to process the bill and Miranda returned to looking at the art work. She began to wonder around a corner, and once again she heard that familiar voice. Only now it sounded desperate and pleading.

"Nate, I'm worried...stop laughing! I'm really concerned...no it just...it was really painful, okay. I wish you would come home. I need you..." her voice broke on that part and Miranda felt her heart skip a beat. The woman was in obvious distress and this Nate fellow did not sound very supportive or helpful. The click of a closing phone caused Miranda to jump and she immediately found herself once again frightened by those ghostly suggestions of once so lively coffee-colored eyes.

Miranda quickly looked away, trying her hardest to focus on a painting before her. She could hear the girl crying and it seemed in every way that she felt lost and alone and scared and frightened. The worst feelings of all to have when one was pregnant.

Andrea knew Miranda was near, and Miranda knew Andrea was near, and so without acknowledging the woman, Miranda simply stated, "Allow me to take you home."

Andrea's tears stopped. She seemed to be silently regarding the older woman as Miranda was regarding the painting. They seemed in a standstill, both lost in seemingly different worlds, Andrea blatantly looking Miranda over, while Miranda blatantly tried to ignore Andrea. This awkward moment was burst when Lily rounded the corner and, having found Miranda, handed over a small black holder with Miranda's black card peeking out of the top. The silver-haired woman opened the holder and quickly signed the cheek, not even looking at the cost, and then placed the credit card back in her waiting billfold. She did not acknowledge Lily again, nor Andrea for that matter, and instead turned and walked towards the entrance. Lily quickly caught up to her, retrieving her fur from a side closet where it had been stored. She helped her in to the coat and then smiled, "Thank you for your purchase, Ms. Priestly."

Miranda straightened at her name, and abruptly turned. Her eyes meeting hazy, blurry browns. "Are you ready, Andrea?" She quietly asked, trying her hardest to not bring further attention to her no longer solo exit.

Andrea quickly snapped to with that fervor she had once possessed while under Miranda's employ. She quickly grabbed her thin coat and headed towards Miranda and the exit, avoiding the odd look she was receiving from her concerned looking friend. She did, however, offer a meek explanation. "I need to go home." After a quick kiss pressed against Lily's still confused looking face, Andrea exited the building, Miranda behind her.

"You're going to catch a cold wearing such a light jacket during this cold season." Miranda immediately barked, not sure why she was so suddenly concerned with this silly girl who had left her in Paris, unattended, unaided, unassisted. Miranda shrugged out of her fur and draped it over the younger woman's shoulders, despite her protests.

Roy opened the door, attempting to shield the curiosity that was internally overtaking him, and watched as Miranda selflessly helped Andrea into the car and then closed the door, walking with Roy hot on her heels to the other side of the car. She was being kind. And for what? What had possessed her to do this? To act so kindly to this useless ex-assistant who was now wasting away her youth with a marriage and soon a family.

She did not speak to the younger woman. She did not acknowledge the fact that she was doing good.

Her steely blue eyes watched as the world swam by outside the town car's window. She hardly noticed when she shivered, but knew that she was suddenly very cold. A small hand fell on her arm, touching the thin material.

"You're cold," a meek voice mused and Miranda immediately turned, her eyes not fixed on the woman beside her, but at the hand that felt like it was burning against her frigid skin.

Miranda just nodded, willing the touch to go away, willing the girl to keep her hands to herself and resume the normal boundaries that should be upheld when in the presence of Miranda Priestly. But Andrea had never listened, had never been one to keep to herself. She was bold and daring, and even in her fragile state she didn't seem to be afraid.

"Thank you," Andrea mildly mumbled, her hand slowly coming away from Miranda's arm, returning to her lap.

Miranda resumed her stare out of the window.

Roy was all too good with directions and quickly and efficiently returned Andrea to her apartment. Miranda watched, concerned, as Andrea exited the car. She attempted to hand the fur back to Miranda, but Miranda refused. Instead she pulled the door shut in Andrea's face and watched as the girl shrugged and walked to her building, letting herself in. Once Miranda knew she was safely inside she met Roy's eyes and nodded, "go."

~*~

The painting hung opposite Miranda Priestly's bed and every morning when she woke up she wished she had not bought it. Those eyes, those hollow, piercing brown eyes only served to remind Miranda of that pained expression she had witnessed nearly a week prior.

Her fingers would move to her arm, to the spot that the woman had touched her, and she would lie in bed and wonder, against her better judgment, what her ex-assistant was doing at that moment. She wondered if that pain had subsided, she wondered if things were patched with that useless Nate, she wondered if Andrea was as alone as she had been that evening. The evening of their chance encounter.

But just as quickly as the thoughts entered, they exited. Miranda could never dwell on this for too long, for if she did, she was most certain she would be calling the girl. And what would she say? She had no reason to get involved with the young woman's affairs. And as far as she was concerned Andrea hated her like everybody else who surrounded her.

However, she soon found that what she suspected was completely wrong.

A knock on her door at nearly one in the morning.

It was a frantic knock. Miranda nervously dropped her pen, realizing she had once again been editing far too late into the night once again.

Regardless, no one ever came to her townhome this late. This night visitor was clearly unacceptable, and if he didn't stop knocking he was bound to wake the girls. And she did not want to have to pacify them and put them back to sleep.

But before she could move to stand up, she heard a worried voice call to her from the stairwell. "Mommy? Who is at the door?" It was a sleepy Caroline.

Miranda appeared at her study door, attempting a smile up at her oldest daughter. "No one, darling. Go back to bed."

"I'm scared." Caroline quickly raced to her mother's side, her arms wrapping around the silver-haired woman's middle. Miranda mindlessly let her hand run through her daughter's long, tangly red locks.

"It's all right. Go on back to bed." Miranda kissed her daughter's forehead and gently nudged her away and towards the stairs.

Without looking to see if her daughter was returning to her room or not, she quickly descended the stairs and moved towards the increasingly loud banging. From the other side of the door she heard crying, and she quickly braced herself for what she might see on the other side. Through the peephole she caught a brief glance of brunette hair. Her fingers worked like fire and soon all the locks and bolts were undone and a broken Andrea was pulled out of the cold, damp smoggy New York street. "What the hell are you doing here?" Miranda demanded, her voice quiet, yet concerned as she pulled the shaking woman into her sitting room, settling her gently on the couch and removing her jacket before covering her with a nearby blanket.

Miranda moved to the kitchen, not waiting for a response.

"You shouldn't be out so late on a night like this." Her voice echoed from the kitchen as she began running water for some tea.

A loud, painful cry alerted Miranda to the fact that Andrea was in a great deal of pain. She dropped the tea bag she was holding on the ground and cursed, moving quickly back to Andrea who was doubled over in pain.

"There's something wrong," Andrea cried, her hands frantically grasping for Miranda. Miranda reached out her hands, attempting to help the woman.

"Mom?" A curious voice called from the sitting room doorway.

"Caroline, I asked you to go to bed. Please do so. Now." Miranda turned to address her daughter, realizing this whole situation looked rather awkward.

"Is she all right?" Caroline asked as if she hadn't just heard her mother.

"Caroline!" Miranda's voice rose above its normal, low volume.

Caroline quickly turned on her heels and raced for the stairs.

Miranda returned her attention to the woman that was now struggling in her arms.

"There's something wet," Andrea began sobbing, if at all possible, harder.

Miranda took a quick inhale, reaching down to remove the blanket, and found a hint of blood. Trying to stay calm, she picked Andrea up and off her couch, tossing the blanket to the side. "We need to get you to the emergency room. Now." Miranda felt so level-headed, so calm. This was simple, easy. She would phone the emergency room, have them ready for Andrea. And then she would call Elizabeth to come watch the girls.

She felt like she was hovering above the room, taking in the situation from a third person perspective. Nothing seemed real about it. She couldn't quite fathom, either, why the girl had come to her. But she was almost glad; glad to be helping, glad to be the one that this woman came running to. But why? Why did she care so much?

~*~

Miranda sat, looking completely emotionless, in the waiting room of the hospital. She had been staring at the white wall with a hint of a raised pattern on it since she had arrived nearly three hours earlier. She was so tired that she couldn't sleep, so worried that she couldn't even move from her spot. A nurse had offered her a cup of coffee, but she had refused, her stomach upset, wrought with nerves.

A doctor finally appeared, but he was unable to give Miranda an update. He needed family members and Miranda was not one of those. He asked if she knew of family and Miranda was so completely blank that she couldn't think to tell him that Nate or that Lily woman might be concerned.

"Is she all right?" Miranda had asked, knowing her behavior was completely wrong. Her voice held a pleading tone that even made her feel pathetic.

The doctor sighed, "she's fair."

"Can I see her?"

"Not right now, I'm afraid." The doctor looked sadly in Miranda's direction and then turned to leave.

Miranda returned to her seat. Fair? Fair was not good. Fair was stable with complications. What sort of complications?

Miranda began pulling at her heavily mascared eyelashes, a habit she only allowed when she was extremely stressed out.

~*~

"Miranda Priestly?" A distant voice called from the front of the waiting room.

Miranda looked up, her eyes swollen with lack of sleep, her vision blurry. She stood and moved toward the man, the doctor from before.

"The patient would like to see you."

Miranda felt her heart begin to beat rapidly, her body visually relaxed. She nodded and followed the man through several doors, down a couple of corridors and in to a room. The curtain was pulled close, but once the doctor pulled it back, Miranda gasped at the sight before her. Andrea looked so pale, so frail. Her eyes were red from crying, her hair a messy heap of tangles.

"Miranda," she gasped for air.

Miranda nodded and moved to her side, afraid to touch her, yet relieved to see her alive and all right.

"Miranda, I lost the baby." Her words were broken with tears and a pale hand reached out, attempting to find Miranda's hand. Miranda firmly took the woman's hand and held it, her free hand instinctively moving to brush hair away from Andrea's forehead.

"Shh, you should sleep." Miranda's voice was calm, sure, soothing.

Andrea just nodded, her hold on Miranda tightening suddenly. "Don't leave, I can't...I can't be alone."

"I'm not going anywhere," Miranda whispered, taking a seat next to the bed. Her hand never left Andrea's, her fingers never ceased their gentle stroking of the younger woman's forehead.

~*~

The white sheets of the hardly used guest bed were turned down and Miranda carefully helped Andrea inside them. She pulled the sheets and blankets up, but was stopped when a hand caught her wrist. "Don't leave."

Miranda bit the inside of her lip and shook her head, "I won't."

Why did the girl want her? After sitting next to her for nearly two days at the hospital, missing important meetings and deadlines, she was still confused as to why the girl had chosen her over one of her friends, or even her husband.

"Nate is out of town, I couldn't reach him, and I got scared...and I just...I didn't want to...um...Lily was busy...I'm sorry." Andrea tried to explain, seeming to sense what Miranda was thinking.

Miranda, who had sat on the edge of the bed, thought this statement over for a moment, nodding her head to signify she had heard and had understood. "Don't be sorry." She finally spoke.

"But you've missed two whole days because of me. Irv is going to be pissed. I'm really sorry." The tears were back, swimming in her eyes.

"Andrea, you came to me. What was I suppose to do?" Miranda's demeanor was all wrong. Gone was the pretense, the façade of Miranda Priestly.

Andrea looked speechless. She opened her mouth to respond, but it promptly shut. She was at a loss for words.

"Why me, Andrea? You seem to have other people who are probably more concerned about you. Why me? The woman you despised for almost a year." Miranda didn't take her eyes off the girls shocked and confused looking face.

"I didn't-...um...I don't know...that night...at the gallery, I just...I just thought...I'm so stupid." Andrea covered her eyes with her hands.

"No, not stupid." Miranda shook her head.

"I never hated you, Miranda." Andrea stated boldly, her hands not uncovering her eyes as she spoke.

Miranda was quiet, letting this information sink in. She didn't know what to say, what to do. The woman that she had been quietly infatuated with was now lying, broken, destroyed in her guest bedroom. What was she supposed to do?

"What about your husband?" Miranda inquired, her eyes focusing on that gorgeous piece of platinum with little diamonds peppering the band.

"God, Miranda. I don't want him. I don't think I ever did. This is all a huge mistake. A big, huge mistake. I think I'm going to be sick." Andrea sat straight up in the bed, and Miranda quickly reached for a waste basket, holding it out for the girl just in time for her to throw up what little she had in her stomach.

Miranda placed the basket down at the side of the bed. This quite reminded her of the time Cassidy had gotten so extremely sick and she had been forced to stay up with her all night and tend to her. Miranda quickly pulled the bag out of the trashcan. "I'm going to take this downstairs. Lie down and relax, all right?" Miranda watched as Andrea nodded and lay back against the fluffy white pillows.

"Come back." Andrea quickly whispered when Miranda got up to walk away.

"I will, don't worry." Miranda responded as she exited the room.

What the hell was she doing?

~*~

"Mom, how long is she going to be here?" Cassidy asked, moving her potatoes around on her plate.

"Until she's better. Now will you please stop playing with your food and eat it?" Miranda gave her daughter an evil glance and the girl quickly hopped to, downing the potato as quickly as she could.

"May I be excused?" Caroline sweetly asked.

Miranda eyed her plate. Upon finding it empty, she nodded her approval. Caroline quickly jumped up from the table and raced to the kitchen.

"And where might your sister be going in such a hurry?" Miranda asked her one, remaining child.

Cassidy looked up at her mom with huge, innocent, worried eyes and shrugged. "Andy's room."

Miranda frowned, "I thought I clearly told you two to stay away from Andrea's room. She is in no state to be having the two of you tromping through her room and keeping her awake. She needs sleep right now," Miranda furiously stated, tossing her napkin down and standing up as she spoke.

"But mom..." Cassidy began to argue with her, but she was too late. Miranda was on the war path. She did not want her children imposing on her guest.

But as she made her way up the stairs and to the fourth floor landing, she heard calm, whispering voices.

"Beethoven used a somber, brooding prologue that was marked _grave_. The _grave_ calls for a more emotive improvisation that pulls the listener in. This _grave_ section returns several times throughout the piece, but it is not necessarily a reflection of the main theme. Instead the _grave_ section weaves its way into the rest of the piece." Andrea sounded as if she were reading from a paper. "I think the last sentence could be changed, see here..."

"Oh, I think so too. That sounds much better." Caroline was agreeing.

So Miranda's little girl was seeking English help from Miranda's ward.

"Caroline," Miranda appeared in the doorway, causing both the woman and her child to look at her. "What did I ask you to not do?"

"But, she's helping me, mom." Caroline sighed.

"It's all right, Miranda. We're almost finished." Andrea gave Miranda a hopeful looking smile. That smile that was no longer forced or faked, but a true, genuine smile. Was the girl coming back to her senses? Was she feeling better?

Miranda wanted to ask her, but it seemed impossible.

"Very well, but please inform Caroline when you have had enough and send her on her way." Miranda sighed. She turned and left, leaving the two to Caroline's paper.

~*~

Miranda was in her study when her daughter interrupted her. "Andy wants to see you."

"Is she all right?" Miranda asked, attempting to not look concerned by focusing her attention on "The Book" that was lying open in front of her. She turned the page and looked up at her daughter, expectantly.

"Yeah, she just said she wanted to talk to you." Caroline shrugged.

"Very well," Miranda stood up, placing her glasses on her desk. "Is your homework all done, now?"

Caroline nodded.

"Good. Go get ready for bed. I'll come kiss you goodnight in a moment." Miranda watched as her daughter raced off and then moved towards her studies doors. What in the world could Andrea have to discuss with her?

Perhaps she felt she had outstayed her welcome. Perhaps she felt she needed to go. And while it had been almost two weeks since she had arrived, Miranda felt a tight tugging at her heart and she knew that she didn't want her to leave. She had no desire to ever see her leave, but the woman had outside obligations, such as her husband, who Miranda was quite certain had not even heard the news yet about the stillbirth.

When Miranda approached the guest bedroom door, she felt her pulse quicken, her palms became sweaty, her throat dry. No, this could not be happening. This silly girl could not be having this affect on her. She slowly opened the door and found a teary eyed woman lying motionlessly in her white bed.

Andrea quickly looked up, her hands moving to her eyes, attempting to clear them of her clearly unwelcomed tears.

"Yes?" Miranda inquired, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I told Nate earlier today. He's on his way home, but I didn't...I didn't tell him I wasn't there...and I just...um..." Fresh tears welled in her eyes, "well I should be going back to my apartment, don't you think?" She looked up at Miranda, a fake smile playing at her lips. Her eyes were so stormy.

Miranda had to break herself out of her fixation on Andrea's face. She quickly blinked her eyes and shook her head. "You don't have to go anywhere unless you think you're ready."

"But what about..."

"Don't worry about him." Miranda whispered, suddenly realizing that their hands had become intertwined in the last couple of seconds.

Andrea closed her eyes and swallowed. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke. "I don't want to leave."

Miranda surprised herself when she replied, "Then don't."

Andrea's eyes flashed open, her brown eyes back to that vibrant color that they had once been, years ago when she had come to work for Miranda. She looked so completely alive in that moment, and it made Miranda's heart pound roughly in her ears, her body surged with a jolt of...what was it? Excitement?

Miranda found herself leaning forward, her free hand brushing long strands of hair out of the younger woman's face. Her lips found warm skin, and she kissed the brunette's chin, lifting her head ever so slightly so that their lips brushed. Andrea responded with a slight moan, her hand moving to wrap around Miranda's neck, tangle in her silver locks. She pulled Miranda closer, their lips meshing together in a crushing, needy kiss.

~*~

The brown eyes of the painting that had once haunted Miranda were now echoed by her bedmate. That morning she had awoken to the sound of rain splashing against the window. Her eyes had immediately been drawn to the picture she had purchased nearly a year prior. The eyes stared out at her, but instead of making her feel insecure or confused, they brought solace when she realized their mirrored orbs were staring directly at her. She turned and found that her younger lover was awake. Andrea's smooth hand moved up to that spot just between Miranda's breasts, feeling the warmth radiating off the older woman's chest. She leaned in and kissed the woman, glad that their warm, naked bodies were pressed so closely together.

Miranda let her fingers wonder down to the curve of a protruding stomach, hand resting against an active belly.

"I think he just kicked." Andrea whispered, pressing her lips to Miranda's neck.

"I think I felt her kick." Miranda replied, kissing the crown of her lover's head, glad for mornings such as these.


End file.
